An Unmarked Grave
by Yomi
Summary: Killua returns home to attend the funeral of Illumi and discovers that, despite his familiarity with death, he still has much to learn. Oneshot Complete.


**A Hunter Fanfic **

**An Unmarked Grave - by Yomi **

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**Disclaimer:** Hunter x Hunter is copyrighted by Yoshihiro Togashi, Shounen Jump Weekly, Shueisha and Nippon Animation

**Summary:** Killua returns home to attend the funeral of Illumi and discovers that, despite his familiarity with death, he still has much to learn.

**Author's Notes:** I haven't written a pure angst-fic before. Reviews will be kindly appreciated. Tell me whether you were struck by unimaginable boredom, or that I did manage to elicit the smallest of sniffles.

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It was considered an honour by Kikyou, but she snubbed the informal funerary rite citing she was allergic to products of failure.

Around a seven-by-three patch of recently disturbed earth, impressible to heavy rain drops and forming innumerable shallow craters, a handful of people stood and bowed their heads.

Karuto's eyes were overshadowed by his ebony bangs. His bright embroidered orange kimono was drenched from long hours of standing under an unrelenting downpour and clung limply to his slender frame, its gold-stitched ends left to wallow in the puddles of muddy water. Immobile as a statue, the youngster delivered a silent message to an older brother who would always reply in silence evermore.

Killua's eyes were wide, hollow and unblinking. He stared down into the ground and beyond the damp soil to a point where only he could see. Since arriving, a single word had not escaped past his locked jaw, and his rigid, graceless movements were unbearable for Gon to watch. Every now and then, something akin to a strangled whimper, as if from an injured animal in distress, reached Gon's ears above the steady pitter-patter of rain. He stole a look of worry at his white-haired friend, and inevitably turned to his mentor for help.

"Biscuit," he voicelessly mouthed the words. The muscles around his temples began to ache – he normally didn't frown this much, or this hard. But he scoffed aside the uncomfortable sensations, certain that it was nothing compared to what was going on inside Killua's head. "What can I do?"

She shook her head and delicately bit her lip. There was no red lipstick today; it was her sign of respect to appear solemn at the last farewell to a man she never met in person. A person who, by all accounts, deserved the least respect.

She mentally ran through a list of things she had earlier prepared. Whilst a moving eulogy didn't make it onto the list, the despondent expression on Killua made her scrap the majority of reminders of how the eldest Zoldick sibling had tormented and manipulated his younger brother for so many years.

It wouldn't do anyone a single iota of good to slander a dead man who couldn't speak for himself.

"I don't understand."

Those were his first words since Goto delivered news of Illumi Zoldick's death. They came out hoarse and scratched, as if the young assassin had already screamed until his throat was raw.

"I don't understand," his mumblings became more articulate in repetition. "I don't understand it. I don't _understand_ it!"

Gon reached out and gave his friend's hand a reassuring squeeze, but Killua jerked away violently, his eyes wide in terror.

"This can't be happening! I'm supposed to _hate_ him!"

Quiet on the sidelines, Karuto spared his hysterical brother one last glance before soundlessly taking his leave, letting his kimono drag behind him as he trekked down the winding path towards the Zoldick mansion. In a week's time, weeds will have overtaken the freshly turned earth and nothing particular will remain to signify that six feet beneath the surface lay Illumi Zoldick.

"Please don't." Gon's voice was laced with pain. He grasped tightly onto Killua's shoulders and was determined not to let go. "It's all right to be sad."

"It's _not_ all right!" the assassin hissed back, fighting, to break away, to banish that miserable feeling which had its cold fist tightly clamped around his stomach.

When Gon suddenly let go, afraid he would crush his friend's bones if he applied further pressure, Killua's knees buckled. His trembling legs folded and he collapsed onto his knees, which instantly sank two inches into the mud with an audible squelch. Killua doubled over and dry retched and heaved until bile rushed up his throat and burned his innards, and a part of him was grateful that the overhead clap of thunder drowned out his guilty sobs.

A starched white handkerchief appeared in his vision, proffered by delicate white gloved hands. "He's gone," she said simply, and instructed Gon to help him back up. But seized by a moment of anger, he shied away from Gon's touch and glared at the pair of them while pointing a finger accusingly at the ground.

"I always wished he was dead. Can anyone tell me why I'm not out celebrating by sticking my head under a chocolate fountain?"

Gon attempted to respond, his big eyes brimming with earnestness. "You cared for him, so – "

"No, I did _not!_" Killua vehemently rejected and he irrationally shifted his demands onto the petite woman to solve his personal mystery.

She stared at him for some time, and as an arc of lightening lit up the sky, Killua saw his pitiful reflection in her glassy eyes. His eye-bags stood our prominently like fresh bruises, his hair was plastered to the sides of his face, and his lips were a slack, lifeless line. He didn't realize his fists were clenched and he was gritting his teeth to stop them from chattering. In everyone's eyes, he must have been a pathetic wounded creature near paralyzed by fear and striking out at his own shadow.

"He cared for you." Simple words tumbled forth and eased into his mind, threatening to unlock another tidal wave of foreign emotions. "You may not have liked him or appreciated his efforts, but you could never deny he cared. Most of what you know was taught to you by your brother. He's gone now, and suddenly, you realize his departure has left a big gap for you to fill. It'll take some time, but you won't hurt forever. We'll always be here for you."

He heard a click in his mind and the agonized squeal of rusty hinges. As the doors were pushed apart and he wandered down an uncharted track, he chanced upon something shimmering in the oppressive dark – the immaculate truth – and as he set his eyes upon it and lovingly caressed it, his soul froze in terror.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O

They were supposed to gather in the main hall for the reading of Illumi's will, and Killua took his friend and mentor down a long, near-forgotten corridor that brought back a flood of memories tainted by nostalgia.

"You…trained here?" Gon studied the confined surroundings of the tunnel, now and then echoing with the drip of water above the ringing of their footsteps. The only remarkable feature down the twisting passage were brightly coloured doors spaced at even intervals.

"There are eight rooms, each representing a particular lesson that Illumi taught me," Killua explained, warming to the idea of sharing his childhood with Gon and Biscuit.

The White Door, Lesson One – Endurance. Inside was a variety of ordinary apparatuses of exercise: weights, treadmills, bench press, parallel bars. If memory served correctly, he ate, slept and trained in this room and didn't see the light of sun for a good six months.

The Blue Door, Lesson Two – Technique. There were four steps to that training: watch, learn, imitate and develop. The room was studded from roof to floor with a hundred flat-screens simultaneously broadcasting fighting styles from a hundred nations, vying for the title of "the strongest".

The Black Door, Lesson Three – Tolerance to Pain. Inflicting and receiving pain was a cold, calculated process. Each lashing, each blow and each intentional act to cause harm was entirely clinical and devoid of personal feeling. In the end, he discovered that the only way to conquer pain was to treat it with magnanimous impersonality.

The Green Door, Lesson Four – Tolerance to Poisons. Pipes lined the edges of the ceiling, spiked with holes and fitted with needle sharp nozzles. The room was designed to be airtight so that any gasses released within could not escape. In the centre of the barren chamber, bolted to the ground, was a single high backed chair where Killua had to sit for days on end. There were stains on the ground nearby that never properly washed out, stains from vomit, sweat, saliva and the acrid acids from his stomach.

The Yellow Door, Lesson Five – Tolerance to Electricity. Huge monstrous machines of glossy black were tightly packed into the cramped spaces and lit up like a Christmas tree when activated. Shackles hung from long, rusted chains and faded screams of an abusive history still lingered in the musty air.

The Red Door, Lesson Six – Torture and Interrogation. The human body was dissected in front of his eyes with excruciating detail, and the victims were often alive than dead as Illumi pulled them apart. After learning of pressure points and nervous systems, Killua was showed how a length of wire stretched out from a paper clip, and fashioned with a simple hook, could be inserted into the body to pluck at threads of nerves, maximising pain before reward. He was taught about conditioning, psychological assault and he passed the lesson after demonstrating the ability to project nightmares without lifting a finger.

The Brown Door, Lesson Seven – Cat and Mouse. There was no room behind the door, just another long tunnel that finished at the base of the extinct volcano. In the heart of the forest, Killua was taught to resist and evade, locate and strike. When he was six years old, after three days and nights in the forest, he tracked down his target and found no satisfaction as he casually tore out the heart. Headlights suddenly flared up and the silhouette of three figures spilled over him. Through slitted pupils and narrowed eyes, he made out the approving gazes of all the Zoldick elders above him.

Biscuit curiously stood before the Eighth door and was more captivated by its design than her reflection, trying to discern whether the door was carved from a single semi-precious stone or rare gem. She pressed both palms against the glittering surface and emitted a sharp hiss as spears of cold lanced up her forearms. Slowly retracting her chilled hands, flexing her fingers to encourage blood circulation, she asked, "What lies behind this door?"

Killua shrugged, hardly deigning to recognize it even existed. "Probably Nen. Dad interfered with Illumi's training and sent me to the Celestial Tower by the time I was ready to start the next Lesson. It probably pissed my dear big brother off to no end that he didn't have a chance to initiate me with the Hazing."

Reluctantly, Biscuit left the enigmatic door behind to catch up with the two teenagers who had almost disappeared from view, although in the back of her mind, she knew lesson number eight could not have been so simple.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O

"In accordance with family tradition, I bequeath half of my entire estate to the Zoldick family trust," Silva read out. He was seated comfortably adjacent to the fireplace where logs of wood crackled and a few hot golden sparks flew dangerously close to igniting Silva's hair.

Kikyou studied her nails in abject boredom, loudly sighing at the end of Silva's every sentence. She was silently admonished now and then by Zeno, although the old man did not appear to pleased to attend the reading either. In fact, the only person who outwardly appeared interested was Milluki. He hung onto every word, thrusting fistful after fistful of oily crisps into his bloated face, and eagerly waited to see what had been left for him.

"And for all my four brothers, I leave to them equal portions of the remainder of my estate. Specifically, Alluka will have my chain of apartments, Milluki will inherit all favours owed to me by my clients and Karuto can take all my clients."

Milluki pumped the air with his fist, screeching "Yes!" as he shuffled out of the hall, spurring on his stumpy legs to carry him as fast as they could, ebullient over his share of Illumi's belongings.

"Killua shall have the key that I have left in Goto's possession. Finally, someone can tell Hisoka that I release him from all of his debts to me."

Silva rolled up the parchment and tossed it into the fire, clapping his hands free of the chore. Killua stared past the figure of his father and felt an irrational compulsion to reach into the blazing fire to retrieve the paper that was already curling black at its flaking edges. His face crumpled into dismay, and he knew his father was studying his every reaction.

When Silva beckoned, he hesitated and threw a look back at his companions.

"They will not be mistreated. Come, Killua, I would like to have a talk with you."

So the teenager followed his father's heels and into another room, Silva's personal chambers, and found the three-legged stool placed directly in front of Silva's divan. A large hand ruffled his fine white hair as his father walked past and sank himself into the silken cushions, cross-legged, expression contemplative.

"Something on your mind?"

"Yeah." He lowered himself onto the seat, hands between his parted legs and nervously clutching the rim. "Feel like crap."

"You can always talk to me about it."

He gave a frustrated sigh and snorted. "I don't even know how to talk about it. It's like…there's suddenly so many things to think about and I don't know how to sort it all out."

"You look terrible. I haven't seen you this pale since Illumi zapped you with your first electrical current. What is it that you fear?"

How his father had the uncanny ability to pierce the clutter of confusion and stare directly into his heart. Killua briefly closed his eyes, and images of that seven-by-three rectangle of neatly raked soil peppered by raindrops and bordered by mangled, prickly weeds bombarded his mind. His own clammy hand clapped around his mouth before he realized he wanted to hurl.

Raising eyes dulled by despair, he asked, "Is this all we're worth?"

One rough eyebrow sprang up in query. Killua clenched down on his esophagus and steeled himself against the wave of nausea. His sharp fingernails bit into the wood.

"Is that all we're worth?" he repeated, this time anger causing his voice to waver. "No matter how hard we work and train to be the best, to be useful, to be helpful…are we all just going to end up in the ground like that?"

Silva sighed. "It is death."

"It is _pathetic!"_

But his father shook his head. "It is not death you fear. It is its consequences."

The question did not register. "Consequences?"

"Of course," said Silva matter-of-factly. He grunted softly as he lifted his knee so he could lean his elbow and body weight against it, but his keen, penetrating gaze never left his distraught son. "You fear the possibility that the person in the ground one day might be your close friend, one whom you'd sorely miss. You fear that after death, they will dwindle into obscurity, when, in your eyes, they are worthy of so much more."

He swallowed a treacherous sob.

"But most of all, you fear that feeling of emptiness. You and Illumi never got along, but you spent all your childhood under his vigilant watch. Now that he's gone, you're upset like you've never been upset before. And you realize that you cannot even possibly begin to imagine how many more times terrible this wretched feeling can become if it was someone, like Gon, whose grave you had to tend to."

Killua buried his face in his hands and wept dry tears. A warmth embraced him across the shoulders, gathering him close, and he fell into it, immensely glad for the comforting strokes down his hunched back that soothed away the sickness corroding away his soul.

His worked his fingers free from the scarred wood and tentatively grasped onto Silva's clothing and resting his forehead against the open chest and heard the steady, dependable beat of his father's heart. "I can't face them, dad."

"The choice is ultimately yours to make. If you need some time by yourself to think, you're always welcome to stay."

"Time by myself…" Killua mumbled. He was ready to take up his father's offer when they were interrupted by a sharp rap on the door.

The warmth vanished. Silva was seated in his divan, surrounded by cushions again, and Goto entered the door, unapologetic in spite of his low bow.

"I have retrieved the key, sir."

Killua shook his head, as if he was awaking himself from a daze. Inside Goto's hands was a small wooden varnished case, minimalist in its decorations. It triggered his inquisitiveness and he was Pandora lured to the box.

"Can I check it out now, dad?"

"Of course. Dinner's served at seven tonight. Don't be late."

But Killua was too absorbed by the only item that Illumi left behind he barely heard the notice.

O-O-O-O-O-O-O

All three of them peered at the simple container that rested in Killua's outstretched hand, none daring to anticipate what would follow if they opened it.

"Bugger that," Biscuit finally retorted and nearly ripped the damn thing from the young assassin. She drew a shrill cry from him as her strength caved in around the box and it collapsed into a countless jagged shards under the pressure.

The key was no ordinary key. It blazed like heated platinum, making them all squint as they first beheld it, and it pulsed with nen frosty and unforgiving.

"I know where this key goes," Biscuit calmly announced. "It seems that even though your brother is dead, he still wants you to finish off his final lesson." She conveyed the key so that it was directly in his line of vision. "What will you do?"

He wrenched it from her grasp and set his brows in determination. Taking a deep breath, he stormed out of the main hall and headed straight back down the corridor where they had previously come from. He was older now, and had trained with a variety of people since he left home. He was going to best Illumi's final lesson, if that was the last thing he was going to do.

The key fitted perfectly into the lock. Gon nodded in encouragement and prompted Killua to twist the key. Cold vapours fled from behind the door, kissed their ankles and left condensation on their shoes. Gyo steady and body tense for action, Killua took the first step and never looked behind him again.

Like the Brown Door, there was no training room but another tunnel that was devoid of even a glint of light. The passage became so narrow at one point that they were forced to walk in single file. And as the path meandered, twisting and turning without warning or direction, Killua wondered how he was being tested. He was not afraid of the dark – part of the training in Torture had forced him to endure the pitch black for days on end with nary a sound to inform him of the amount of time passed. There was no oppressive nen barring their way forward, and Gon's keen ears detected no other presence in the tunnel, so no one was waiting around the bend to gut him in the dark.

After what seemed like hours, they finally emerged on the surface and were bathed in the orange light of the sunset and a soft drizzle on their cheeks. It took a few seconds for Killua to realize they were no longer on Zoldick grounds, seeing that the Gate of Trials was an indiscernible speck in the horizon.

And just twenty meters away, there was Goto with his umbrella, dutifully waiting for him.

"Hey, what the hell was that!" Killua exclaimed in outrage.

"_That_ was Master Illumi's last lesson to you, Master Killua."

"I _know_ that, but what _is_ the lesson? We just walked through a long, squishy tunnel. Big deal! I learnt nothing!"

Goto dropped his voice to even lower, more sombre tones. "Master Killua, the last lesson is called Courage."

Killua looked at him as if the chief house-keeper had been hit on the head too many times. "I could have done that when I was two years old! Why did Illumi make it the last lesson to teach me?"

"Hey Killua, you're not giving Goto a chance to speak," Gon reined him back before he lunged and tried to throttle the answer out of the older man.

"Master Killua, answer me this. Will you stay or leave?"

There was a heavy silence.

"You overheard?"

"No, Master Killua, I would not stoop so low as to eavesdrop, but this was predicted by Master Illumi."

"You're not making any damn sense! What's there to predict? I've already been away from home for four years!"

"Master Illumi may not have been able to teach you love or friendship, but he foresaw that one day, you might just be saddened by his death. And if you were to realize that one day, you may be even more saddened by the death of your friends, you will leave them, to avoid being hurt. Was Master Illumi correct?"

Killua bowed his head in utter defeat. "Yes," he grated.

"And so now you understand the meaning behind the Eighth Door? Master Illumi was afraid that you couldn't withstand the pain of losing a loved one. That's why he tried to teach you to be emotionless. But in the event that was not possible, you had to attempt the last lesson. You must not be allowed to run home to hide. You must be brave and accept that just because one day, it is very possible you will have to bury Gon, or Ms. Biscuit, with your own hands, you will not give up give up your life and happiness because of such possibilities."

The white-haired assassin scrubbed his eyes with the back of his sleeve until his eyelids were red and tender.

_The Colourless Door, Lesson Eight – Courage to accept uncertainty. _

"But that door was built when I was five years old. He couldn't have predicted that I would…turn out like this."

Goto smiled down kindly on the heir. "Master Illumi saw that you wanted to play with Kanalia one day, and suspected that assassination will not bring you happiness. You brother only ever had your happiness in mind."

Blowing away the last of his sniffles, Killua stood up a little straighter. "I see. That bastard planned it all from the start."

"So will you return to Kukuru Mountain then, Master Killua?"

Killua pounced on an unwary Gon and tackled him into a friendly headlock. "No way! I've got to track down Hisoka and deliver big bro's last words. And after that…who cares, we'll probably accidentally get involved in something big and I'll be too busy to even remember to send Christmas cards."

"Do call sometimes," Goto said patiently, and extended the umbrella to the young man, his eyes hidden behind the reflection of his glasses.

"Don't need it. The rain doesn't bother me. When dad finds out I'm not staying home for dinner, just say….what the hell, say what you want, that Mike went mad and gobbled me for dessert – "

" – he'll find that difficult to believe – "

"Whatever! We're going to have to run if we want to make it back to town by nightfall and find a hotel to stay in. Laters Goto! You have my number!"

"All right boys! Last one back to town has to give me six thousand one-handed pushups!"

A cloud of dust, a stampeded of feet, and three figures rapidly became blurry figures zooming down the highway.

The rain would cease during the night and the sun will shine gloriously in the morning. Goto adjusted his glasses, wiping them clean, his attention drawn towards the sky and its magnificent, limitless expanse, and he imagined that a familiar long-haired figure was waving his last goodbye in a very boyish, childlike fashion.

"Master Illumi, please go in peace. Master Killua passed his last lesson with flying colours."


End file.
